


Sad Song

by BonfireSmoke



Series: Sad Song [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coma, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonfireSmoke/pseuds/BonfireSmoke
Summary: Greg gets shot in the field. How does Myc cope?Not very well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.  
> I'm also not opposed to a second chapter if you guys want.  
> Title was inspired by We The Kings 'Sad Song' as well as the fic

_ Is this Mycroft Holmes? _

_ Yes _

_ This is Sergeant Donovan, Greg’s been shot, you need to get to the hospital now. _

 

Mycroft sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair by Greg’s bed. Greg was surrounded by machines, many of which he was hooked up too. Nurses flitted in and out of the room to check or adjust a machine.

There was no sign of Greg waking.

Doctor Briggs had said that he was in a coma. The bullet had gone scarily close to his heart, another inch, and Mycroft wouldn’t’ve had a husband anymore.

Mycroft gripped Greg’s hand as Anthea walked into the room, typing on her blackberry as usual. “I’ve brought you a change of clothes and some food sir. I’m not leaving until you eat.” She placed a sandwich in front of him.

Mycroft looked at it in disgust.

“Sir I will force feed you. I don’t care how worried you are, if Gregory were awake, he’d be saying the same thing.”

Mycroft sighed, and took a tentative bite of the sandwich before realizing how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten since he’d found out Gregory was in the hospital nearly 12 hours before.

“Thank you Anthea. You may leave now.” She shot him a final concerned look before exiting the room. Mycroft turned his gaze back to Greg. “Please be okay.” The doctor came back in.

“Mr. Holmes, we’ve gone back over your husbands X-rays. We’ve found something of concern, but we’re going to need to take him in for another one before we can be sure.”

All Mycroft could do was nod.

Soon after, a few nurses came in and wheeled Greg into a different room.

It only took about 45 minutes before Dr. Briggs came back, “it’s not good, Mr. Holmes. We already knew that that one of your husband's ribs was shattered by the blow. It seems that one of the fragments impaled his heart. We’re working on removing it, but after that, there’s a 24 hour period where we won’t know for certain. If he can survive that, then he might wake up.”

Mycroft nodded once more, mute from shock. The nurses wheeled Greg’s still unconscious form into the room, hooking him back up to the machines.

“I’ll leave you here.” Dr. Briggs gave Mycroft a sympathetic look, and walked out.

 

_ Beep… beep… beep…  _

The steady recurrence of the beeping heart monitor had been a source of comfort for Mycroft through the past few hours. It felt like days had past. Looking at the clock, however, he saw that it had only been 6 hours since the surgery.

He was wrenched out of his thoughts by the heart monitor going nuts, then.

_ Beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee _

Mycroft was pushed out of the room as people rushed in, calling for things. All the noise blurred into the background as he collapsed against the wall, hand over his mouth.

Dr. Briggs came out, pulling off his gloves, pity in his eyes.

“No.” Mycroft breathed, “no, no no no no no.”

“Mr. Holmes, Greg… didn’t make it. I’m so sorry.”

Mycroft’s gaze blurred. “No.” He whispered. “Not Greg please.” He felt a tear slide down his face.

Mycroft felt a hand on his shoulder, “Mycroft, come on. Sherlock and I’ve set up the guest room for you. We can see him tomorrow. Promise.” John.

“Okay.” Mycroft whispered, allowing himself to be lead away from the only good thing that had ever come out of his life. “Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter guys.  
> I'm sorry, I think I made it worse...

_ Mycroft was running towards the shape in the distance. He was always running. He could never seem to get close enough to see. The shape spoke. It sounded like- Gregory? _

_ “Hey Myc, c’mere. Lemmie cuddle you.” _

Mycroft woke with a jolt, tears streaming down his face. “Greg?” He murmured, reaching over to the other side of the bed to find- nothing.

Greg was dead.

He let out a sob, pressing his face into his pillow.

“Mycroft?” John’s voice floated up the stairs, “Mycroft, breakfast!” Greg would’ve woken him up with tea and toast in bed after a scare like that.

Sighing, Mycroft rolled out of bed, rubbing his face furiously, trying to remove any trace that he’d been crying.

He walked downstairs in silence, not bothering to change out of his 3-day old suit or fix his hair. Sherlock looked at him, but said nothing. Pity filling his eyes as John set a plate of eggs in front of him.

“Eat that, and we can go see Greg’s body.” Mycroft looked at the eggs, then back at John.

_ Tired, upset about Greg. They were closer friends than I thought. Trying to keep me and Sherlock going, but struggling. _

“Okay.” He whispered, picking at the eggs, then looking up to Sherlock, who tilted his head slightly, then nodded. He’d deduced the same thing.

“You should eat too, John.” Sherlock said, “as you like to remind me, you’re only human.”

John looked from Sherlock to Mycroft and back again, before sitting down heavily. “Okay.”

 

The drive to the hospital was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the cabbie turning on the radio to try and drive it away.

At the hospital, Molly led them to the morgue. “He’s in here.” She said, opening one of the freezers, “he’ll need to have a funeral soon, we can’t keep him here forever, as much as we don’t want to. It’s best if we have it sooner rather than later.”

Mycroft could hear the sympathy in her voice, but as she continued, pointing out exactly where the bullet had gone and why the rib had shattered, he let it become background noise. Examining his husband’s body.

The face that had shown him why caring  _ was _ an advantage, expressionless. The eyes that had been full of love, closed. Gray skin, hair in disarray. Mycroft shut his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at it any longer.

He felt Sherlock’s hand on his arm, guiding him away.

“We need to plan a funeral, you do know that.” Mycroft nodded.

“He’s had a grave plot picked out for years, we just need to get a coffin. Please don’t make me.” He practically begged, “you can do it, please.”

Sherlock looked at him, “I’ll pick it out, but you get the final say, brother mine. I’ll leave you now.”

He went back into the morgue, and Mycroft slid to the floor, struggling to come to terms with the fact that Greg was gone, and this time he wasn’t coming back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys.

_ “Greg!” Mycroft spun around, he was in their house, he kept hearing Greg call for him. “Greg where are you!” _

_ “I’m right here.” Mycroft turned around to see Greg standing with his arms spread, “c’mere gorgeous.” _

_ Mycroft let out something that sounded like a sob, and took a step closer. _

_ But then blood started spurting out of Greg’s chest. “Greg?” _

_ Greg collapsed to the floor gasping for breath, then _

 

Mycroft woke with a start, clamping a hand over his mouth to stop from screaming. He rolled over, seeing the other side of Sherlock and John’s guest bedroom. They’d offered to let him stay until after the funeral, which was later that day.

He got up, and pulled on one of Greg’s T-shirts, then pulling on the rest of the suit he was going to wear. He trudged downstairs.

“I made toast.” John shoved a plate towards him, “and you are  _ not _ leaving this flat until you eat a piece.”

Mycroft tried to give him a glare, but it fell short. Sighing, he took the toast.

 

At the funeral, Mycroft could barely stand to look around him. His eyes seemed permanently blurred with tears, and his hands were shaking. When Sherlock asked if he wanted to say something, he shook his head, not trusting his voice.

All too soon, Greg was lowered into the ground.

That was when Mycroft really accepted it.

Sherlock handed him a letter, “Greg gave this to me before he got shot. He said if he didn’t make it… I was supposed to give this to you.”

 

Mycroft didn’t open it until he was in his flat alone.

_ Hey love, _

_ If you’re reading this then I didn’t make it for whatever reason. _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ I love you, don’t ever give up. _

_ All my love, _

_ Greg <3 _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry! <3


End file.
